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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29388690">War Stories</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/canyouseemyspark/pseuds/spottswood'>spottswood (canyouseemyspark)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dorne [10]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Sexual Content</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:07:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>942</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29388690</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/canyouseemyspark/pseuds/spottswood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I have survived, but I have not been spared.”<br/>-Catherynne M. Valente, Deathless</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Quentyn Martell/Daenerys Targaryen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dorne [10]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/183227</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>War Stories</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>I promised you a queen, father</em>.</p>
<p>Was this what his father expected? Was <em>she</em> what Quentyn expected?</p>
<p>When he tried to imagine the time <em>before</em>, when he still lived in the whitewashed halls of Yronwood, when he still dreamed of marrying Gwenyth, when he imagined a future for himself that was quiet, peaceful, living in the Water Gardens with his father or as lord of a holdfast of his own, <em>when Cletus, and Will, and Maester Kedry were still alive</em>.. it was like trying to hold water in his hands. It was as though a shroud was raised, between then and now… He could see the shape of it, but it just all in shadows, moving as quickly as he did, flinching from his sight.</p>
<p>Between then and now, there were strange places, strange and terrible places and sights and men and noises. It was them that filled his mind. And three dragons, beyond anything he could have imagined in day dream or nightmare, at the lead of it, always overhead, watching it all. Dragons could be killed, every Dornishmen knew that, but Quentyn could hardly imagine how. The death that they could bring, though, he could imagine that clearly. He had never been outside Dorne but he started thinking of places beyond it, of Highgarden, and Storm’s End, and of the fields of the Riverlands, all burning.</p>
<p>That’s what he had come to bring. <em>Fire and blood. </em>Revenge.</p>
<p>And a queen.</p>
<p>The nights when he laid in bed, wondering what she would want with him of all the princes in the world, they were away, in that faraway place too. <em>She will want Dorne</em>, he had told himself. But now he knew wanting had nothing to do with it. They were both drawn forward, dragged along like a dog on a string, to a fate that was as opaque to him as the past had become, to a Westeros which their arrival would render unrecognizable.</p>
<p>He had thought far ahead enough to his reunion with his father. Daenerys was not in those fantasies, though he carried with him the knowledge his quest was successful. He imagined them at Sunspear, his father in his chair, Arianne at his side. <em>I have brought you a queen.</em></p>
<p>When he looked at his bride, Quentyn did not see death. In their bed, he saw the woman, who had married a khal and made him love her, who had taken lovers since, and who undressed without shame, guided him inside her without shame, taught him how to touch and kiss her, without shame. It had surprised him, that their couplings would be so, though they knew each other little still. During the day he saw the young girl who was always running, though now she was a woman who did not show her exhaustion or ill temper, no matter how hard they had ridden nor had little they had eaten. Who had taught her, he wondered, how to behave as a princess? If things had all been different, if Tywin Lannister had not ordered the butchering of his aunt and his cousins, if Robert Baratheon had not swung his warhammer into Rhaegar Targaryen’s chest, if the tourney at Harrenhall had never happened, <em>if if if… </em>She might have been raised in luxury and comfort in King’s Landing. He could see it, even here, far from anything that might resemble home, anything that might resemble luxury and comfort, could see her a princess with nothing to do except give her favors at tourneys, make nobleman’s sons fall in love with her, marry and have more princesses. He would have been too shy to speak to her. Perhaps Cletus might have, he was always bold, he could always make a woman smile.</p>
<p>It was only when they were crossing the Narrow Sea that he saw <em>her</em> for the first time.</p>
<p>She came to find him as he stood on the prow of the boat, watching the darkening horizon, knowing within the hour he would be able to see the port of Planky Town. He was not thinking of his father then but of Lord Yronwood. Would Archibald be the one to tell him of Cletus? Quentyn knew it should be him. Cletus was his friend and brother. And Quentyn was now a king. He could not be a coward.</p>
<p>He thought she had come to watch the horizon too. But instead, she only looked at him.</p>
<p>“The people,” She said, “They will be frightened.”</p>
<p>Quentyn could hear the flapping of the dragons’ wings overhead, louder than the waves. He had thought of it, of what it would be to look up and to see those creatures, hear their cries and their roars.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Quentyn admitted. There was no way to arrive stealthily, not with three fully grown dragons. They would arrive by night, but they would not be hidden for long. Their arrival would mean panic, and fear, and then war.</p>
<p>If he was another man, he might have joked. <em>Do you want to turn around</em>, he might have asked her, smirking, coaxing a smile.</p>
<p>She frowned, and looked up.</p>
<p>She was looking for reassurance, he realized. It was not something his bride asked of him.</p>
<p>“In the beginning,” He added slowly, carefully. “But they will come to know you.” He could not, would not lie. “And they will love you, if you bring them peace.”</p>
<p> “Peace,” She repeated. “Peace is what I want.”</p>
<p>
  <em>I have brought three dragons. An army. Death and revenge.</em>
</p>
<p>What does it say of him, that his father would ask such a thing of him? What does it say, that he would accept?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Last line inspired by dialogue from the Borgias</p></blockquote></div></div>
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